


St Francis

by Enedda



Series: A Study in Marcus [8]
Category: The Exorcist (TV)
Genre: God - Freeform, Marcus cannot sleep, Mentions of self-harm, Other, Religion, a bit of healing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-03
Updated: 2018-07-03
Packaged: 2019-06-04 18:55:18
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 841
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15153482
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Enedda/pseuds/Enedda
Summary: What happens when Marcus cannot sleep. Before Tomas, before Peter, before everything.





	St Francis

Marcus is praying. The night is long and he cannot sleep, haunted by demons of his own. During nights like this, he is scared even of his own face. The rosary doesn't help and the sharpened crucifix glints in the light, offering a relief he doesn't want and knows he needs. Later, later, he tells the demons. 

There should be a way to exorcise yourself. Ego me absolvo, he thinks and the prayer comes uninvited.

_Lord make me an instrument of your peace_

Yeah, right. Peace. Of all things. He is everything but. All emotions written on the skin, heart visible through broken bones. Every breath comes with difficulty, unwanted and unloved. They say the suffering is His instrument. Either He is a sadistic maniac, or...  there is some truth in that. Being broken has helped before. He feels more, understands more. He is so much stronger in his suffering than a whole lot of people. He can use this strength. It could be his tool, even if it's slippery with tears and blood.

_Where there is hatred let me sow love_

Love. One thing he doesn't know. He feels he understands demons sometimes - banned from Heaven, knowing of love and not being able to feel it. He feels it but is not able to understand it nor to receive it. How to believe anyone would want to be with him when he is so... not fit. Raw to the very core. 

Hatred is easier. He knows it. He sleeps with it almost every night. Not hating others, that had passed a long time ago, but... hating himself. Lesson learned and not forgotten. Written on his skin, tattooed on his very bones. Unworthy, unloved. How could he love?

_Where there is injury, pardon_

He's crying now. Silently, in his pillow. Nobody should know. Pardon. Pardon is an amazing word. Musical like forgiveness. Music has helped him, always.

_Where there is doubt, faith_

Oh, he believes. Not in religion, not in the Church, not in the Bible even. He believes in God. Strangely and hoping against hope that there is meaning in all this... existence. All this darkness. All this... despair?

_Where there is despair, hope_

Hope. A simple thing. A light in the tunnel. A road going somewhere, not ending with a cliff coming down to the roaring, stormy sea. Could he hope? Just for healing, nothing more. For the pain to stop one day. Maybe for just an hour of clear, sunny sky and some fluffy clouds that look like sheep. 

_Where there is darkness, light_

Oh, he loves the light. The first light in the morning, he is always out, chasing the lost warmth. He scares the darkness away, wanting to feed on the rays.

_And where there is sadness, joy_

Where is his joy? Reading, painting. Closing the door and being with his thoughts, praying. Cleaning the floor of the chapel at night, listening to his own tired breath. Calming down the noise in his head. Watching his sadness dance. 

_O divine master grant that I may_

_not so much seek to be consoled as to console_

He thinks of listening. Of giving the confession, of solace. He feels good then. Valid. Wanted, even. Maybe - needed? He cannot be consoled, too much has happened, and some things cannot be undone, but he can use that to give. His source is everlasting.

_to be understood as to understand_

He's never met a soul that would understand. People listen and make polite faces full of pity. They recommend therapy and drugs. They say he has to seek help, so he stopped telling them anything. He plays instead. Plays pretend. But he understands how it feels. He knows how to find other actors, full of anger and fury... 

_To be loved as to love_

... and love and kindness. He always knew that people who were hurt the most are the sweetest. Or the most deranged, there is no in between. He danced on this border many years ago and won the prize. He loves everyone like a semi-feral cat. One can touch him, but only to an extent. Then he hides again. But it is love he feels, not anger now.

_For it is in giving that we receive_

_it is in pardoning that we are pardoned_

_And it's in dying that we are born to eternal life_

He's been dead before, just breathing and working and not living. Demons roared then, scratching his skin and looking through the gashes. He walked through the black tar, looking for anything to hold on to. Then he found it, a little star that grew and grew, giving light. He wasn't alone in this. There were other people there, lost as he was. He could help them on the way, he knew the path well. He had to die to know he can live.

His nights can be full of demons but someone understood. This small prayer, written by St Francis or not, was his way out of the darkness.

Now he could sleep.

 

**Author's Note:**

> * The prayer is one of my personal favourites, so I was super thrilled to hear it in the episode! Check its history here:
> 
> https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Prayer_of_Saint_Francis


End file.
